


The Diary of Elrond, Lord of Imladris

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Kings, Other - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2010-03-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Excerpts from Elrond's diary concerning the days after Celebrian is attacked by orcs and forced to leave Middle-Earth for Valinor. How does he cope, how will his family, friends and the rest of Imladris cope?<br/>Contains cameos from/mentions of: Ereinion Gil-Galad, the people of Imladris, Galadriel, Celeborn, Elwing, Elros, Earendil and a few others I may have forgotten.</p><p>
  <strong>Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 are up.</strong>
</p><p>Quite angsty at the start, but it definitely gets more positive towards the end! The chapters do get longer too. :P</p><p>
  <strong>This story is complete, I just haven't typed it all up yet! Please be patient with me. ^_^</strong>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 30/12/2509

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

                                                                                                                                                 30/12/2509  
Dear Diary,

                        Ever since that accursed orc attack Celebrían has been quiet, too quiet.  Sometimes it's as if she simply isn't in the room.  I am working day and night to help her recover from her ordeal, with only desperation left to fuel what little strength I have in reserve.  I have healed her physical wounds but in spite of my doing everything I possibly can I cannot restore her peace of mind, cannot erase the hideous memories that plague her every waking- and sleeping- moments.

            Celebrían continues to tense and flinch whenever I so much as enter the same room as her; I am afraid the dreaded Elven-Sickness may begin to claim her if she shows no sign of improvement soon.  She is so weak now- refusing the energy I send her via our bond.  There is a chance, Eru forbid it, that my wife is already fading, attempting to join Mandos in his halls without telling anyone until she is too far gone to help; the Doomsman's call to strong to resist.  If this is the case then Celebrían is hiding her ailment extremely well indeed.

The Valar help me if she leaves, or… no.  I will not allow that to happen.

                                                                    Elrond


	2. 05/01/2510

                                                                                                                                                  05/01/2510  
Dear Diary,

                        Celebrían is gone.  After leaving the comfort of Imladris behind in the early morning six days ago, as Arien began her ascent into the sky; my wife, a small delegation of our closest friends and family, and of course myself rode west to Mithlond, to the great grey ship that lay anchored in the placid waters of the harbour to say goodbye.  Goodbye.  I had thought we would be together as one, until the end of Arda, when we would forsake our lives here and sail for Valinor- the Undying Lands- and eternal peace together.  It appears however, that my dreams meant nothing.  I am doomed to spend the remainder off my immortal days alone and bereft of happiness.  Indeed, it seems my life will continue to follow the trend it began with; where sorrow and pain dog my steps like a shadow, a suffocating cloak that chokes and joy I may happen to find.

            Curse the Valar!  Especially Námo, who has taken from me everyone I have ever loved, have ever given room in my heart; my parents when I was but a child, my twin, Elros, when we were the tender age of 500, my king-Ereinion Gil-Galad- in battle, and now my beloved wife Celebrían.  I doubt I can live through the pain that even now wrenches at my heart, splitting open old wounds.  I fear losing Celebrían may well be my breaking point.

            Although I have suffered so many losses in my life, I find I still have the arrogance to hope I may survive this torment for, despite my tortuous existence, I have as yet discovered no wish to abandon the familiarity of my home.

Elrond


	3. 13/01/2510

                                                                                                                                                  13/01/2510  
Dear Diary,

                        I feel torn.  Supporting my children has never been so difficult before.  Arwen has taken the loss of her mother particularly hard and has regressed into her childhood.  I rarely see her anywhere without her brothers; it is easy enough to tell that they need my support, but I must see to my own requirements before concentrating on anyone else.

            I know my reasoning sounds selfish, but I do not want my friends or family to see the pain I feel.  I had hoped the loss of Celebrían would not be the end of the line, but it seems that Eru has other plans for me.  It is a straightforward thing to see that I, as my wife began to before me, am fading.  My skin is pale, my hair dull and lifeless, an almost exact replica of my eyes which are slate grey and red-rimmed from the exhausting sorrow and weakness I know suffer almost constantly.  My face is thin and haggard; I have lost weight- enough for old robes that previously stretched a little tight across my body and required tailoring to a bigger size now need to be taken in, lest they drown me in a sea of fabric.

            In an attempt to prevent more problems from becoming lodged on my children's already overburdened shoulders I will lock myself in my chambers and live in the past, for that has become the only place I can hope to find solace, the only place I can think of that will afford me a little longer to live.

"Quit being such an extremist!" you might say, but I truly believe I am to die, and take with me the knowledge that Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen would soon follow.  I say this because I am uncertain whether Arwen and the twins could cope with losing me so soon after their mother.  Should they chase me to Mandos' Halls, they will create and spring a trap which will undoubtedly lead to others joining us before their time; it really is surprising that Galadriel and Celeborn have remained- Celebrían was their only daughter, their only child after all.

            More when I have the strength to write.  For now I will attempt to sleep, although I know with an uncomfortable certainty that the nightmares are guaranteed to attack again as soon as my eyes close, vivid and unforgiving as they have been every night since the ship left, carrying my wife further from me with each passing hour.

                                                                   Elrond


	4. 03/02/2510

03/02/2510

Dear Diary,

                If anything, my few happy memories contribute towards hastening my death.  Being partly of Mortal descent, I am prone to illness and although I am not sick, this defect permits me to fade much faster than the majority of elves- Celebrían had been fading for approximately the same amount of time as I have been, but due to the speed at which it overcame her, I could not yet see any difference in her body.  I, however, feel awful.  The little I do find the energy to eat does me no good- wasting yet more strength as my stomach rejects it; as a consequence of this I have had to confine myself to bed as the energy, strength and will to get up and move about eludes me as though it were a rabbit cowering in its earthy burrow from a wily, ravenous fox.

            I wander how the children are coping?  As their father I am supposed to be there to look after them but as I have not heard them playing outside for weeks, I do not know what sort of state they are in, and therefore would probably do absolutely nothing to improve the situation.  The feeling of helplessness has been my constant companion since Celebrían broke the news of her wish to depart Middle-Earth to me.

There is no hope of sparing my life now; I can only pray to the Valar that my passing is relatively swift and painless.  I pray my children do not endeavour to follow my feä to the Halls of Mandos - it would break many hearts other than my own.

                                                                        Elrond


	5. 27/02/2510

                                                                                                                                                     27/02/2510  
Dear Diary,

                        This may well be my last entry.  Over the centuries I have heard songs and read various tales and sagas detailing my days as a warrior of the high King's court, each one announcing my supposedly invincible strength and endless endurance, but contrary to the minstrels' belief even I have a limit: one I have reached.

            My weakness is depressing; after weeks without sleep and only little sustenance, my breath rattles in my chest as each time becomes harder to inhale.  Everything my tired eyes observe paint painful pictures: picnics in Imladris' extensive gardens as a family, riding through lush forest alongside a happily gurgling stream - the Bruinen- or the most painful of all: the birth of my children, our wedding and the night that followed.  All are agonising reminders of Celebrían and our life together, reminders of another I have loved and lost, failed when they needed me most.  I have tried to remove, hide and even destroy these various artefacts but each time I cannot bring myself to complete the attempt.  Although painful, each good memory is precious to me (perhaps because I have so few?) and I find myself captivated as I pick up each object and then gently replace it.

                                                                         Elrond


	6. 28/02/2510

                                                                                                                                               28/2/2510 TA

Dear Diary,

                   I can't seem to get any peace now that I have decided to die.  My people must have learned to read minds over the past month as I have spent the majority of my time telling people to go away and stop knocking on my door- they shall not be admitted, and as such I am bored of reminding them of this, I simply ignore them now.

          Well, the ignoring tactic lasted all of a few hours, around about two hours past midday; I was jerked unceremoniously from fitful slumber by the apparent sound of my door being smashed in.  It turned out not to be Grond, Hammer of the Underworld, but Glorfindel, Captain of the Imladris Guard and resurrected Balrog Slayer, hammering his fist against the groaning oak with no mind to the poor craftsmen that would have to re-align the hinges afterwards.

          Now, Fin knows only a little Khûzdul, but the snippets he has picked up put my dismissal of him into stark contrast: he left very quickly, no doubt having deduced that my unusual outburst of temper and utilisation of language meant- not politely- "go away".  Alas my new-found peace lasted only for a few, precious moments before he returned, secret weapon in tow.  I recognised the sound of my friend's footsteps and was about to launch into another tirade of foul language when a hesitant tap on the door came, softer than before, the accompanying voice gentler and most definitely female.

          "Ada please let me in.  I know you feel sad, but you need help, please let me help you."  It was my youngest child, my daughter Arwen.  Her plea washed over me like a wave of calm, pulling me up from the depths of my despair and placing me once more in the light.  What could I do besides shuffle painfully to the door and unlock it?

          "Be est le," I sighed, before melting into the shadows, aiming for the bed and granting her access.  I confess, I hung my head in shame when I heard my daughter's shocked gasp as she looked upon the dust and grime covered mess that had been, until Celebrían's departure, immaculate chambers, full of life and light.  Arwen gathered herself and called for me as she traced my route to the bed where I had sunk into the mattress, utterly exhausted by only that small walk.  I averted my eyes as she gingerly sat beside me.  Her eyes roamed my body, absorbing every tiny detail, analysing and despairing.  Suddenly she laid her hand on my cheek and guided my face to look at hers.  Startled, I raised my bloodshot eyes and swallowed a sob as she implored,

          "Oh, Ada.  What have you done to yourself?" it was now my turn to gasp as a single, glistening teardrop trailed down her cheek, where I caught it upon my fingertip and found the part of me I thought had been lost with my wife- the part that allowed me to love, no matter how destitute my life became.  I begged her not to cry and shifted closer in order to hold her better in a hug, her head resting on my shoulder and our arms wrapped round each other.  I felt myself truly relax for the first time since Celebrían left me, the dam in my eyes breached as I finally allowed the amassed tears to pour forth. 

How long we sat there, crying and holding each other I do not know, but as we ran out of tears, Arwen dropped a bombshell on me;  the twins, my sons, had reacted to their mother's departure from these shores almost as badly as I have, upon our return to Imladris they had rested only one night before leaving to conduct a mass orc hunt, claiming it was their fault for being too slow to find their mother, for not bringing her home soon enough and that they would better serve Imladris by slaying the monsters that tore Celebrían so cruelly from the tightly woven fabric of our lives.

After her brief tale Arwen informed me that Elladan and Elrohir were on their way back home, returning to check on me, to address a host of niggling wounds and to restock before the next campaign.  Apparently, even through the single minded ferocity that drives their hunt, they never forget to come home and see us every few weeks.

          I am beginning to think that with a family such as mine, full of such determination and love, perhaps life is still worth living.  I think for now, death- and Mandos- can wait.  Ah, I must go now; Arwen caught me yawning and has ordered me to bed in my office, of all places.  She has taken it upon herself and her maids to air and clean my rooms before the twins return, and sadly the best time to do that is whilst I am not in the rooms, and asleep.

                                                                         Elrond


End file.
